Companion's Quarters
by mysticxf
Summary: Clara wakes in a strange room, only to find that it's actually hers.


Clara woke to take in an alien landscape of eccentric draperies and abstract paintings in an autumn palette. Sitting up, she tried to gauge where she was – in whose room she was, actually – and she realized from the constant humming that she'd somehow fallen asleep on the Tardis.

"_Wind's left the sails_," she'd told him with a sleepy grin.

"_Rest your eyes a moment, Clara_," he'd replied absently.

But she'd settled on the seat near the console, leaning her head against the railing. And now she was here. _Where was she_? Pushing the thick burgundy sheets off her body, she smiled down at her shoeless feet, black stockings snug to her skin, before dropping them over the side of the bed to stand, straightening the thin blue material of her dress over her thighs.

It wasn't much larger than her space at the Maitland's, and she noticed the bookshelf built into the wall held most of the same titles as she curiously ran a finger over their spines. There was a small desk with a handful of old leather bound journals and a quill and ink bottle whose ink had gone dry. Clara picked up the object and then placed it down again with a furrow of her brow before turning her attention to the footsteps that stopped just at the doorway.

"I can replace that," the Doctor told her sheepishly, "Tardis built the room to my specifications, but obviously a few kinks in the programming."

Nodding, she looked up at the ceiling, not knowing why she looked to the ceiling whenever she considered the machine was a living being. Leaning against the desk, she gestured to the room and asked, "Who was the room built for?" And internally she questioned, _the Tardis builds rooms on command_? But she knew that was a question for another day, when she was ready to process the rapid fire techno jumble of an explanation he'd give her.

He nodded, "For you."

"I've got to be back at the Maitland's," she told him hurriedly, then smirked, "I told you I wouldn't come flying off in your snog box permanently – just a few trips, some laughs, some stories for tomorrow…"

The Doctor smiled and crossed his arms, looking away, "And I've respected that – we'll be back with one pop of a knob – but it's always good to have a place to sit and think, or sleep off your first fight with a planet god." He wore a mischievous grin she couldn't help but mimic and the tickle it gave her made her break eye contact first.

Glancing down at her red purse hanging over her black jacket on the chair pushed into the desk, Clara asked quietly, "You build a room for all of your companions?"

"Yes," he admitted quickly, then added with a sigh, "Although, I normally include bunk beds."

She held back a laugh, but asked, "Bunk beds?"

He smiled widely, as though she'd stumbled upon one of his favorite subject and Clara braced herself as he raised his arms slightly towards her to exclaim, "Amazing invention, bunk beds!" And she nodded along with him as he continued, "You've got options, would you like a top or prefer the bottom, all depends upon your mood. Always space for a friend, for conversations, and silliness... _and the tricks_! The flipping and the climbing and the bunkiness…" he trailed and she knew it was because of the look on her face, as though he'd grown a third eye. "Most people don't appreciate a good bunk bed," he ended stubbornly and she smiled because she knew he meant her.

"Oh, I _appreciated_ them – when I was ten," Clara told him pointedly. Then she glanced sideways, "So, no bunk beds for me?"

"Would you like bunk beds?" He asked brightly, straightening.

Shaking her head, Clara chuckled when his face slumped in defeat, but then asked quickly, curiously, "So why didn't I get bunk beds?"

She watched as he stammered slightly, tilting from one foot to the other before garbling out a simple, "You didn't seem the sort."

"What sort do I seem?" Clara challenged playfully, stepping away from the desk at her side to watch his cheeks burn. "Oversized bed with all the fluffings," she picked up one of several pillows that had been layered around her head and tossed it at him. "Pampered?"

"No," he said defensively before shrugging, "You just seemed the sort to want comfort in layers and... pillows."

Clara pulled the jacket and purse off her chair and slipped her feet into the shoes that sat next to the desk. Moving towards him, grinning as he pushed his palms into his pockets and lowered his head slightly, embarrassed. Stopping at his side, she looked him over and quipped, "Easy boy, you haven't even made it a proper snog box yet." She walked past him, calling back, "Back to the Maitland's for now, yeah?"

She made her way towards the console she could hear down the hall to her right, listening to the silence behind her become a mad shuffle of feet. _Oh yeah_, she smiled satisfactorily, _this was going to be good_.

End.


End file.
